His Penumbra
by TheSillyFrog
Summary: Bellatrix feels nothing but emptiness. When Riddle takes her under his wing and shows her the journey to perfection, she experiences the dizzying horrors of a world of madness and pain. All for the sake of perfection. She is lost in his penumbra. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Is everybody as bored as I am during winter break? I swear I'm going to start taking knitting classes or something to fill up my time. But instead, I choose to write. So I've been sitting in this coffee shop for the past...**checks time**...4 hours doing nothing but write and facebook :P I've decided to start up this new fic I've been mentally working on for the past month. It's a Bellatrix AU story because I wanted to tackle something entirely different and I've never done a AU fic before. Hopefully it will still be good...

Warnings: This story will be disturbing and dark and graphic. Don't let the first few chapters fool you! It is not as clean as my other stories!

About this chapter: this isn't going to be about religion, even though she speaks of God at first. She just mentions that because it shapes her thoughts later on in the story. No...she doesn't become a nun :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Remember people! Reviews = LOVE!

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September 28th 2011

_My teacher today spoke of God as if he were real. I do believe that is against school policy. Religion and education are no longer compatible…but I digress._

_What I wanted to say is that Professor Sprout spoke of God as if he (or she, for all we know) existed. She asked us if we felt empty sometimes. She asked if we could feel something missing in our bodies, in our mind. The exact term she used was "soul" but the mention of God is hard enough to tolerate without bringing souls into this whole ordeal._

_Do I feel empty? What a question! It pains me to admit, even now in the privacy of my own journal, that for the first time Professor Sprout had pricked my curiosity. And while other pathetic mediocre students instantly began spewing quotes from Nietzsche and Hobbes, I sat still and listened to the familiar emptiness in my head…_

_Good God! I'm making myself sound daft! "The familiar emptiness in my head"… I knew I shouldn't have written this in pen! But I've promised myself I would always write the truth and so I write in pen to protect the truth from myself. Protect the truth… How on earth I was born into a world of politics?_

_Perhaps I should have said: "the familiar emptiness in my heart" but I have no patience for that mushy talk of the heart and the soul. So I say head. But do not get me wrong; I am not dumb in the least. Women like me who are born into the very best of families and grow up surrounded by the most eloquent and practiced of people cannot possibly be dumb. In fact, I am much smarter than the average university student._

_What was my point again? Oh yes…this talk of emptiness and God. Well, as I was saying, I listened to this familiar emptiness that kept on growing within me. It grows at the same pace I do. Every year, it takes more space in my body until I can almost hear it echoing against my bones and flesh._

_Well, Professor Sprout said that there were scientific studies being made on the hypothesis that human beings create the image of God. She said that humans imagine God because it creates the illusion of nurturance and protection. But this has all already been debated on. What is interesting is that this new theory believes that a human being's natural mechanism is designed to believe in a higher power. So it isn't just for simpletons with weak minds. According to Professor Sprout, everyone believes in a force greater than us._

_She went on to explain how many humans with something crucial lacking in their lives will feel God calling to them. God appears to those who cannot find peace. God appears to those who feel pain. That is what she said._

_Did God appear to those who feel nothing?_

_Is he calling for me? Is he the one creating this echo in me? Is he the one pounding in my hollow chest? I can feel him all around him. My arms are outstretched towards him but I catch nothing but the air._

_I know this sounds foolish. If my father were to ever read this he would have me sent to an insane asylum! And that simply would not do, especially when he expects me to become the youngest woman in Parliament. After all, I am to upkeep the carefully polished Black name just as my father has done and his father before him._

_I feel no resentment towards him. It is only natural that I should be trained in such a manner. I will become a politician like my forefathers. That is what I want. Still…I cannot help but feel frustration towards the world and I do not know why. All I can say for certain is that, try as I might, I cannot find perfection. There are things that escape even me and it infuriates me._

_So God…if you are truly part of my imagination, created to help me feel complete, I ask you to help me become perfect._

_Teach me to be perfect._

_And then I'll be complete._


	2. Chapter 2

Ok...spent an amazingly uneventful day watching thrillers and writing for His Penumbra. Here's when the story begins. Sorry if I live you on a bit of a cliffhanger. Not my intention. And I thought I'd just specify that everything in italics is Bellatrix's diary...just in case you don't notice. :P

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

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October 2nd 2011

"_There is a boy in my political science class. I don't know what to think of him. He's so strange…_

_I've never really liked him. Truthfully, I've felt a slight resentment towards him ever since he scored higher than I in our midterm. From what I hear, he's an orphan boy who was able to afford our school due to scholarships; my father's scholarship, to be exact. _

_It's weird that people like him. People like me too. The difference is that I change myself to have them like me. He does not. Call it what you like, but I enjoy being able to manipulate people without them having the slightest idea. They are sheep. This man is not. He is a hunter, like me. And after tonight, I am beginning to wonder if he is not hunting me." _

xxx

"How was class, Bellatrix?"

"Good. We had oral presentations today. Professor Slughorn said I did well in mine. He still wants father to come as a guest speaker. Maybe he should. I think it might help with my grades in his class. "

"Mmm…that's nice, dear."

"Mother? Are you coming home tonight?"

"What? Listen Bella, I have to hang up. Something's come up. I'll speak to you some other day. Ok? Ok. Bye."

Bellatrix held the phone to her hear, listening to the one endless ring as it echoed in her ear. A brief laugh escaped her lips, dripping of contempt.

"Bye, Mother."

She dropped the phone, almost not caring if it landed correctly or not.

The kitchen was empty. The gentle humming of the refrigerator, the soft ticking of the clock, the buzzing of the dishwasher all sang to her in the dark, like a cricket's call in the summer air. The cold, harsh lamp hanging from the ceiling swung lightly over her head, stretching her shadow, bending, twisting it until it looked almost frightening. Back and forth. Back and forth…

Bellatrix watched it for a moment, wondering what had made it begin swinging in the first place. Now if people spent half as much time speculating on religion as they did on the little mysteries of life such as why a lamp moves on its own, the world would be a much simpler place.

Realizing with frustration that she had nothing else to do, she heaved herself onto the marble counter and pulled her knees to her chest. She held out a thin, cold finger and lightly pushed on the lamp, resuming its swinging. She continued, each time adding a little more strength to her push to counter the weight of the swinging light.

Bellatrix had no notion of time. For all she knew, she had been sitting there for years. Everything felt the same to her. Everything drifted away in a slow, empty sort of manner. She felt like a small stream, always drifting in the same direction, always at the same pace. There was no change in her life, no loud explosions of color or heart wrenching moments. Nothing…

With her sisters gone to a prestigious boarding school in America and her parents constantly gone on business trips, Bellatrix was living on her own. As much as she hated to admit it, she was constantly bored.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Bellatrix tired with her game. By the time night had fallen, she was beginning to think of some other pointless occupation to pass the time. Her mind wondered towards her many university books and the school report she had to finish for Friday. Perhaps it couldn't hurt to work on it a little before supper…

The bell rang, just as Bellatrix was unfolding her numb legs and halting the lamp.

She froze, half certain whether she should answer it or not. Usually she would have gotten the hired help to answer the door but they had already left for the day.

The only servant who remained with her was Kurt Reacher, an ancient man who had served her family for decades. He lived somewhere in the house, out of her sight, silently cleaning invisible specks of dirt and polishing family heirlooms. Reacher had been living with them since she could remember. She was told that as a toddler, she used to follow him about the house and watch attentively as he did his daily chores. Growing up, she was unable to pronounce his name correctly and, instead, began calling him Kreacher. The name had stuck since then.

Bellatrix slid off the counter and made her way lazily towards the door. Sure, she could let Kreacher do it but that man was so ancient and dimwitted the caller would probably leave before he could drag his feet downstairs.

She moved noiselessly towards the door, turned on the outdoor light and looked through the peephole. There was the dark silhouette of man standing on the sidewalk across from her house but she could not clearly see his features through the glass.

"You'd think he'd wait in front of the door like a normal person." Bellatrix muttered, pulling on a pair of shoes before yanking the door open and striding purposefully towards the figure. With his back turned to her, she felt inexplicably afraid. But then he turned at the sound of her steps and that odd feeling disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.

"Good evening, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix stood there, unable to complete the distance between them. She looked at his face, at his attire, at the book in his hand and back at his face. With parted lips, she remembered to breathe the cool autumn air.

"Do I know you?" She managed to spit, stifling the confusion in her voice.

Of course she knew him. She had been secretly watching him ever since she had first spotted him in her class, speaking quietly with the teacher as if they had been friends since birth. Every student in their program knew who he was. He was the most handsome, intelligent man in their year and, by default, Bellatrix's unofficial rival. But of course, she wasn't about to admit this to him.

"I'm in some of your classes." He spoke in a silky voice, without a trace of uncertainty. There was something undeniably dark and beautiful about his tone. Bellatrix wasn't surprised he had half the student body swooning over him.

"They're large classes." Bellatrix countered quickly.

He smiled knowingly, as if he could read the way she shivered involuntarily, the way she forced herself to keep eye contact, the way her body was bending unnoticeably in direction of the book in his hand.

"Tom Riddle." He presented himself softly, without any of those pompous airs people often attached to their names.

Bellatrix nodded.

"How do you know where I live?" She asked.

Tom merely shrugged, moving forward a little so that they were at a distance more suitable for conversation. He held up the simple black book so that she could see it clearly.

"I found this today after class. It must have fallen out of your bag."

"Hand it over." Bellatrix could not keep the urgency out of her voice. Now that he had mentioned her diary, the repressed fears were beginning to become more real.

Tom chuckled, handing her the journal without hesitation. She took it from him and tucked it under her arm.

"I didn't read it." He said, another knowing smile slipping onto his pale lips.

Bellatrix shivered, eyeing him carefully. It was like he had seen into her mind. Like he had seen the question she couldn't muster the strength to ask. But he had offered an answer all the same and Bellatrix could tell there were no lies in it.

"Ok…" She nodded.

They stood in silence, staring at each other. Tom Riddle appeared immune to the painful awkwardness creeping into the situation. He continued smiling, as if amused by her. Bellatrix, on the other hand, could not shake the feeling that he was waiting for her to say something. What? She did not know. She had nothing to tell him.

"Well…" She shuffled her feet. "I've got McGonagall's report to finish so… you can go now."

Tom shook his head, slowing dismissing her comment with nonchalance.

"You're not going to play with me first, Bellatrix? You're not going to give me false hopes before crushing me? You're not going to threaten me or laugh at me? Nothing? How disappointing…"

Her eyes narrowed. Her focus stopped on his lips, the way they formed the words as if in an elegant dance with the world. Was he _mocking_ her?

"What are you implying?" She snarled, taking another step towards him.

He laughed again. It was a low animalistic laugh, the type that sent chills up her spine. It wasn't _natural_. Yet she could not help but love the way it struck her ears, the way it tickled her senses.

"That simply will not do. I was hoping to see you in action…"

He ran his eyes over her, the smile suddenly vanishing from his face almost as if it had never existed. And then, in one precise movement, he held out his hand to her.

"Come." He ordered. "I'm taking you out."


	3. Chapter 3

Happy New Year everybody! I don't know how many hours are left over where you live. In Canada, there is approximately 9 hours left before 2011. I'm going to make the most of what's left of 2010 and...do nothing :P Hope you guys have just as much fun.

Concerning "His Penumbra"...I'm really enjoying writing it because of the challenge it consist of. I never thought I would have so much trouble getting into the heads of a none-magical Bellatrix and Tom. It's surprisingly difficult. Being wizards is such an important part of both of their personalities. They consider themselves superior because of their magical heritage. Strip them of that and they're not at all the same. So I'm trying to remodel them as muggles. It's hard. The muggle-Tom Riddle in my mind is a brilliant psychopath with a superiority complex. Muggle-Bellatrix is a self-centered over-achiever with deep insecurities. I apologize if that's not the way you see them. Hopefully you'll still like the story.

Thanks for the great reviews Inkfire! You know I love you!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

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October 3rd 2011

_**6 p.m.**_

_I've seen him at school but he doesn't react to my presence. He looks at me as if we have never spoken. We're just classmates again. It's almost like last night never happened. I had to look back to last night's page just to confirm my memories and even that hasn't convinced me…_

_Things were exciting for a moment. There was an explosion in my life and everything was just so thrilling, so frightening. For once I could have something that would have made this stupid diary interesting. For once I could have a real secret to keep from the world. But I blew it…_

_**6:45 p.m.**_

_I've just reread my last passage and I have to rectify something quickly before I begin to question my sanity. I am in no way interested in Tom Riddle's psychopathic offer and I will never consider such an odd idea. Why on earth would I need some freak telling me what to do? He should be locked up. Maybe I'll tell father…_

_**11:15 p.m.**_

"_I can fill the emptiness." _

_I wonder what he meant by that. _

_**1:00 a.m.**_

_Maybe it's worth a try…_

_xxx_

Bellatrix had never been to a bar, she had never been out drinking with anyone before. The lack of friends was one of the key reasons. Another was the firm belief that bars were dirty havens for perverts and psychopaths, and Bellatrix was neither. She had plenty of alcohol in her parents' liquor cabinet and she wasn't about to sacrifice her dignity for a cheap thrill.

Yet there she was, sitting in the corner of a dark, questionable bar with Tom Riddle. The bar was dark, reeked of liquor and looked just as bad. A single bartender stood behind the counter, under the dim light, rhythmically wiping a glass with a filthy rag. A couple men sat together at the bar counter, drunkenly humming an 80's song with beer bottles in hand. Besides them, the bar was completely empty. The table they sat at was covered in a sticky substance and had pieces of half-eaten peanuts scattered about the surface. Tom sat across from her, on a rickety old chair, with a beer bottle in hand that he hadn't touched since their arrival. He was talking coolly about one of their university classes and the teacher they both despised while Bellatrix sipped her own beer, stifling a repulsed face whenever the liquor touched her tongue. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought the bartender was serving them cat piss.

Tom finally placed his bottle on the table, leaned back in the chair and looked at Bellatrix seriously. The young woman's heart sped up. She could feel that he was getting to the true reason for their outing.

"You're wondering what we're doing here, aren't you?" He spoke, staring into her eyes as if he had complete access to her deepest thoughts. Bellatrix stared back, keeping her face impassive, refusing to give him an inch. She said nothing.

Tom smiled, if only just a little.

"You feel strange, don't you? Doing something like this; so out of the ordinary. You're afraid but you love it."

Bellatrix laughed, ignoring the knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Like you know what I'm really thinking. For all you know, I'm thinking of the best way to get rid of you without hurting your male-ego."

It felt strange, challenging him in such a way. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with the whole situation. She shouldn't have gone. She should be at home finishing her report and getting an early night's sleep.

This man, this…Tom Riddle, wasn't normal. She could tell. The way his eyes remained indifferent to emotions. The way those dark mirrors reflected her own fears with such incredible accuracy. The way he could turn a smile on and off with one simple flick of a switch. The way he knew every thought running through her mind. She should have been afraid and maybe she was a little. But, mostly, she was _thrilled_.

"You're thinking how odd it is that I know all of this about you. You're wondering if I'm some crazy stalker or just a boy with a crush. You'd be pleased, if that were true. Wouldn't you, Bellatrix? If I…_liked _you."

"What's this all about?" Bellatrix snapped, eyes narrowing. "Why don't you just tell me instead of acting like a freak?"

Tom chuckled, crossing his long legs and picking up his bottle again. He said nothing, for a long time, just watching the girl.

Bellatrix couldn't help the sinking feeling in her stomach. Something had changed in him. She knew this with a fierce certainty. She didn't know him. They had never spoken before today. But she could tell the Tom Riddle teachers praised in class wasn't really who he was. He was someone…_something_ much smarter, much darker.

But why did he want _her_?

"I'm leaving." Bellatrix breathed, grabbing her coat from the adjacent seat and gathering it in her arms.

She did not move. Tom laughed.

"Tell me, Bella…what do you write in that little diary of yours?"

"Nothing that concerns _you_." She spat, still holding the coat to her chest.

"I'm sure it will after tonight." He smiled, running a finger over the rim of his bottle. "You'll write a lot about me after tonight."

"I'll make sure to mention your obsession with me." She replied, hoping her face matched the coolness in her tone.

Tom chuckled. "Witty Bella…very witty."

He leaned forward, leaning his elbows on the edge of the table, forcing Bellatrix to look at his perfect face, into his eyes, and confront what she found there; the reflection of her own imperfect face.

"Let's play a game, a…bet, if you like."

"I'm not giving you any money."

"Oh this isn't for money. Let's play for…an "I owe you". Those are always useful."

Bellatrix frowned, unconsciously dropping the coat back on the chair. She never tore her eyes away from his.

"What do you want to bet?" She murmured.

"Let's see…" Riddle sighed and looked around, pretending to ponder for a moment. He then looked back at her paling face and said: "I bet that after tonight, all you will think of is me. My name will be sprawled across every page in your little diary. I bet that…your body and mind will be entirely mine by the end of the year; in three months and a half, to be exact."

Bellatrix laughed loudly, drawing drunken looks from the men at the counter. Who did this man think he was? He thought that just because he was handsome he would be able to seduce _her_? Truth be told, she felt a little disappointed by his challenge. She would have thought someone as mysterious as Tom Riddle would have more original, exciting ideas than just romantic intrigue.

"I'm not looking for your love, Bellatrix." Tom rectified, calmly disregarding her mocking laughter. "Love is a word I am not in the least bit interested in. I'm looking for loyalty, fascination and…complete and total obedience. That is what I want from you. That is what you will give me."

The laughter died down instantly. Bellatrix was afraid.

"No." She murmured, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "No I won't."

She stared at him for a second, shocked into silence. And then, like a dam suddenly breaking, panic rushed into her thoughts. And she couldn't stifle them anymore.

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about? Why me? What are you trying to achieve with this fucking crazy game? You're mad…you're mad! I'm leaving! _Now_."

Still, she did not move.

"I am not finished yet." He continued, speaking as if she hadn't said a single word. "I haven't told you how I intend to win. Now usually I wouldn't consider revealing my tactics but I think this is a special occasion…" His smile turned back on, he was starting to look slightly insane. Bellatrix felt sick.

"You see, Bellatrix…I am going to be your teacher. And I'm going to have you perform a little experiment for me. It'll be a special little class. A class I'm sure you will find more…challenging than the ones we attend at Hogwarts University."

He paused, allowing Bellatrix to analyze his words.

"You're wondering why you would willingly do anything of the sort. You're not the type to help others. Believe me, I know. But you are the type that likes to feel special, superior. You've been searching for perfection all your life but you don't know what perfection _is_. Without it, you feel your life is meaningless. You feel empty. I can help you. I'll teach you what true perfection is. You'll never feel hollow again."

Bellatrix couldn't move. Once, as a young teenager, Bellatrix had fallen through thin ice into a river. On that day, it had felt as if she wasn't in her own body, like she was watching everything from afar. She had never felt that odd sensation of shock since then. Yet, as she looked into his eyes she couldn't help but feel the sensation returning.

"Get away from me." She breathed. "Don't ever speak to me again."

And this time, she stood without hesitation, urgently pulling the coat onto her shoulders.

Tom Riddle watched her do this. He did not attempt to stop her. He didn't even look displeased. On the contrary, he looked amused. As if she was a child making a scene. He rested his chin on his open palm and looked up at her.

Bellatrix turned and headed for the door, Tom's final words fluttering in the air after her.

"_I can fill the emptiness, Bellatrix."_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 is finally done! I was going to have it posted within the week but I decided I would get it done earlier for Inkfire.

I was reading all of your reviews and I noticed how everybody seems to think it so odd that I created a muggle Bellatrix and a muggle Tom Riddle. This might sound kind of stupid but I never really thought that it was that crazy of an idea. It's difficult, yes, but not unrealistic...right? Well anyways now that I think about it, I'm beginning to realize that maybe it isn't a very common fanfiction topic. So I just wanted to thank all you readers for still giving it a chance.

One more little thing...I noticed how the dates I gave to Bellatrix's diary entries don't work with the story setting. It takes place in autumn but her diary indicates that it's January...nough said? Yes I feel completely retarded for not noticing earlier. Please don't laugh at me. I've laughed enough at myself as it is. I'll go change the earlier dates as soon as I can.

Enjoy!

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October 5th 2011

_Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea…_

_There is something undeniably twisted about Tom Riddle. He's not normal. I've always had such ease in expressing my thoughts. It really isn't that hard to do. But when I try to conjure the words to describe this man, I simply cannot. It's just _there_…_

_Am I the only one that sees it? Or am I the only one that has been close enough to notice it. If someone were to read this journal, would they instantly see what I see? _

_All I can say is that I am afraid of what lies ahead. I'm afraid of giving in to him._

_xxx_

He sat there, closer to the front, steadily holding a pen in hand and staring fixedly at the teacher. From where she sat, Bellatrix could only catch a sliver of his face and the neutral expression it bore- nothing more. He was completely sheltered from her burning gaze. He was completely unaware of her inner turmoil…she hoped.

Bellatrix had not attended her morning class; a first for the perfect student. She simply could not bear the thought of facing Riddle without a concrete answer. She couldn't deal with him slipping into her mind and telling her what to think before she could decide for herself.

She had gone to school yesterday, exhausted and expecting Tom Riddle to kidnap and murder her. But nothing had happened. It was as if he hadn't known who she was. And that had been far worse than the fear of being murdered. Although she knew he hadn't done anything to get under her skin, his lack of interest had done exactly that.

So Bellatrix chose to stay home the next morning and think things through properly before facing Tom once and for all. She must have paced her bedroom floor a hundred times all throughout the night and well into the following morning. She had been through fits of panic, hysterical laughter and furious scribbling in her diary. Nothing could give her the answer she needed so desperately. And then, when it became obvious that she wasn't getting anywhere, she decided that she would have to throw logic aside and decide with her gut.

The decision she had finally taken was one she knew she was going to regret.

The class ended in a jostle of student bodies, all scrambling to gather their books and exit the exhausting aura of learning. There was noise and confusion in the air as people made last-minute plans for their weekend. Bellatrix could hear names of random bars and clubs being thrown out into the open. She heard complaints of term papers due for Monday and muttered insults directed at various teachers. They all left, eager to let their minds rest for the weekend.

Bellatrix stood, holding the strap of her backpack tightly to her chest and nervously gnawing on the inside of her cheek. She was painfully conscience of how she held herself, how she couldn't find a suitable position for her arms, how she could not keep her face calm and composed. She felt like an awkward teenager, talking to the boy she liked for the first time.

She did not have to put physical effort into the plan. Soon, sooner than she would have liked, she caught Tom's undivided attention simply by looking at him. He stood further to the front, down the little steps that led to the teacher's desk and chalkboard. He was looking up at her, expressionlessly staring at her with mild interest.

Bellatrix felt her throat tighten at the sight of him. What if he had changed his mind? What if he had been disappointed by her reaction? Somehow, though she did not immediately notice it, the thought frightened her more than anything else.

"We need to talk." She said quickly, her voice resounding loudly in the empty classroom. It sounded weak to her and she hated it.

She did not move. Again, the way Tom was staring at her kept her from feeling her legs. She stood there, holding onto the strap of her bag as if it were the only thing protecting her from him. But protection wasn't really what she wanted, even if her basic instincts yearned for it. She had grown up in a protected world, away from true excitement. What Bellatrix really wanted was something she hoped (she knew) Tom could give her.

Still she did not move until Tom had brushed past her and was moving purposefully towards the exit.

She followed.

Once outside, in the hallway of the reputable University, Bellatrix wasn't so sure anymore. She knew she would later be sickened by her own lack of control and certainty but she could not help it. She knew that there would be no turning back once she had decided. She knew that what Tom had in mind was far more dangerous than anything she had yet to experience.

She heard him behind her, as she carefully shut the classroom door. They stood together amongst the silently watching portraits of the Hogwarts' alumni. Bellatrix looked purposefully at the artwork, attempting to calm her racing heart.

His breath trickled down her neck like cool morning mist. His body radiated ice, raising the hairs on her skin. He was so close...his hands could so easily stretch out, take hold of her neck and-

"Look at me."

Bellatrix spun around, almost instantly and without noticing the harsh order. Now her eyes were caressing another work of art, one that was a masterpiece in its own right. But his eyes were painted in different colors today, colors of indifference and impatience. His lips were drawn in cold blunt charcoal, one straight line that refused to bend in the light. This Tom Riddle was yet another dimension to a painting Bellatrix could not understand.

Bellatrix couldn't swallow the hollow feeling rising in her chest, a feeling that only occurred when someone looked at her with disappointment. She had felt it so many times before but it somehow felt stronger now that Tom was there. She had only known him for a few days and yet she was beginning to notice a pattern. All her emotions whether fear, pride, pleasure or pain, were enhanced around him. Everything was real. She felt alive.

"Ok..." She spoke, keeping her eyes as cold and hard as she could under his unforgiving gaze.

She hesitated, only for a brief moment, before speaking the words she had carefully rehearsed.

"I don't know you and I do not pretend this is a logical decision. I am well aware of how insane you are. But…I like games."

Tom said nothing. He watched her, unfeeling eyes chilling her to the point where she could no longer look into them. So she looked at his mouth, his most lethal weapon, and held her tongue.

"Is that all?" He said at last, a scolding tone of boredom dripping from those perfect lips.

Those words were like a small spark lighting the tip of a candle. Slowly the flame grew within Bellatrix's chest and, once again, she felt herself desperately needing to prove herself to this man she barely knew. It made her inexplicably angry.

"What else do you want me to say?" she said, attempting to keep her voice even. "I just said that I'd play you game. I know this is a bad idea and that I'll probably get hurt by your tests, whatever they may be, but I don't..." She stopped now, struggling with her thoughts. "I don't want to...feel nothing, anymore. I want to prove to myself that I am as special as everyone says I am. I expect you to help me reach that goal."

Tom shook his head, silently dismissing her earnest confession as if it were nothing more than a childish complaint.

"You belong to me, now. You have agreed to serve me."

"That's not-"

"Have you not?"

"I-"

"Have you not agreed to my game?"

"Yes but-"

"_Then say it_."

Bellatrix froze, a protest trapped in her throat where it burned like scolding tea. Tom's order was spoken with such force yet so softly; like a snake coiling around her body, forcing her to move the way it wanted her too. There was an unspoken threat in those words, unimaginable pain that he could inflict upon her if she were to disobey. Bellatrix was afraid.

"I...I will obey you."

Words Bellatrix had once thought she would rather die than speak, she now whispered before a stranger.

Tom Riddle nodded, evaluating her silently and without reserve. There was hunger in his gaze. He looked into her eyes, almost as if he could read her mind and looked pleased with what he found there.

"From now on, you are not to ask anything of me. You are not to _expect _mercy or help from me." He folded his arms behind his back and looked at the portrait hanging on the wall beside them. Bellatrix followed his gaze. "But I am a merciful master and I will teach you what you want to learn. That was our agreement, was it not? You will see that I am all you will need from now on. I will teach you perfection."

The portrait of the silver-bearded man looked down at Bellatrix, a soft twinkle in his eyes and a smile on his lips. Why was it that as Bellatrix stood there staring at it, listening to Tom Riddle, the painting looked somehow different? Why was it that those blue eyes shone with tears and that kind smile seemed tainted with sorrow?


	5. Chapter 5

I decided to use my last day off to write another chapter. School starts tomorrow and I won't be able to write as much anymore…

So this chapter was originally meant to begin with Bellatrix and Tom at her house. But it simply wasn't working. And I know, from experience, that when I can't get my writing to flow, it's because I'm doing something wrong. So I wrote this instead. What was meant to be in this chapter will be in the next. Hopefully you don't hate me too much for leaving you all on a cliffhanger.

I've been writing this in a café for the past three hours. Outside, there is lots of beautiful white winter snow. That's how I got in the mood for the setting of this chapter, by staring out at the snow. For the first half, I listened to a song by the Hush Sound called "You are the Moon" because there is something dreamlike about that song that matches the way I think Bellatrix is feeling. Ok I'll stop with the useless information now…

I hope you all like it! Let me know what you think!

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October 14th 2011

_I've never been a big dreamer; dreamer in the sense that I've never dreamt much. When I sleep, I sleep deeply and without disturbance. My mind has never been troubled enough to feel the need struggle over waking worries while in slumber. If something is important enough to interrupt my sleep, I solve the problem instead of sleeping. If not, I wait until the next day. _

_When I was young, my parents told me that dreams occur when something important is troubling your mind whether you are aware of it or not. I suppose that makes sense. When my sisters left for America, I had a dream, one that I remember perfectly even to this day. But it was not about my sisters, it was about Kreacher. I had dreamt Kreacher was eating my cereal at the kitchen table. Except it wasn't Kreacher, it was some ugly little monster dressed in rags with big bat-like ears. I only know that it was Kreacher because the monster wore a nametag on its rags: K. Reacher. Sometimes I wonder about my sanity…_

_But there I go off on a tangent again! What I fail to mention in everyday conversations I make up for in useless chatter in my journal. What I really wanted to say was that I've never been a big dreamer. But ever since I've met Tom Riddle, a little over two weeks ago, I've been dreaming almost every night. They're not necessarily dreams about Tom. Some are. Others are abstract dreams similar to the one I had about Kreacher. _

_The ones about Tom are odd. They give me a false sense of security. It's difficult to explain, even to myself. Does it ever happen that you experience things but do not know what those "things" are? Like feelings that make no sense and you cannot find the right words to explain? Of course you wouldn't…you're just a piece of paper. Bellatrix Black I do believe you are going mad…_

_Back to those dreams. When I dream of Tom, my eyes are always closed. It's like I'm trying to wake up inside my dream. I cannot see anything but I know where I am. I know what it is, who it is, that I am hearing. I hear Tom. He speaks to me. He's all around me. And although my eyes are closed, I do not feel afraid. I feel like a puppet of some kind, and someone is controlling my actions. I've always hated the idea of being a puppet. But somehow, in my dream, being one does not bother me. It was like… I felt… I…_

_I was perfect._

_xxx_

Bellatrix sat on the stone steps at the entrance of the Hogwarts campus, breathing in the cool afternoon air and watching as it appeared in little white clouds on her lips. Bundled up in a warm woolen jacket and wearing her favorite fur-lined boots (because Bellatrix did not care about cute dying animals all across the planet), she could have sat there all day and not have minded in the least.

There was something wonderful about autumn afternoons and the way they melted away into golden-clouded evenings. The way the air was just cold enough to chill the inside of her throat without it being uncomfortable. The way the breeze glided on her skin, gently wiping away that tired feeling of school and work. The way her hair blew everywhere, even into her eyes and she did not care. The way she could watch everyone running about yet feel completely removed from the situation, like she was separated from them by an invisible ice wall.

She looked up at the clear blue sky and thought of how empty it was. Somehow, that comforted her; the thought that something as limitless as the sky could be as empty as Bellatrix's heart. Except, her heart wasn't that empty anymore. There was a gentle humming there, deeply nestled within the layers of indifference. It was something so fragile Bellatrix almost preferred to let it be and forget about it. But sometimes, she could not resist its presence. She would poke through all the other useless thoughts she found within her until she reached that little piece of warmth, like a baby bird in a winter blizzard. She would hold that bird to her chest and suppress a smile.

Things were different now. She wasn't living for nothing. She was moving in the right direction – whatever that direction might be. Because, when she held that little bird, she thought of Tom Riddle and, although she still felt afraid, she shivered with pleasure. She had a secret. A secret she would not be forced to tell her parents. A secret she could not even admit to herself. Only _he_ knew.

"Hey, Bella!"

Bellatrix dropped the little bird, back into the snow where it trembled silently, and looked up at the voice she wished she had not heard. But it was too late; she had acknowledged his presence, indicating that she was willing to listen to his useless chatter.

Fours figures stood before her, all bundled up in matching green cashmere scarfs and holding warm coffees. They cheeks and the tip of their noses were pink from the cold and Bellatrix wondered vaguely if she looked as bad.

"Hey." She muttered, grabbing her bag and standing up so that she could look at them from an equal level. "What are you all doing here?"

"I can ask you the same thing, cousin." Rosier indicated her present state with his chin. "What are you doing here, all alone? It's freezing."

Bellatrix scowled, her usual bad temper returning.

"Don't call me that." She hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Call you what, cousin?"

"_That_."

"What d'you mean, cous-"

"Rosier." Rodolphus spoke in a low warning, eyes never leaving Bellatrix's frozen face. "Shut up for once, why don't you?"

Although lacking in the brain department, Rosier wasn't a _complete_ idiot. He knew when it was wise to stop spouting nonsense. And when Rodolphus Lestrange, the leader of the pack, told him to shut up, he did it without complaint.

"We've come to pick you up." Rabastan spoke quickly, nervously glancing at his older brother. "We're going to Malfoy's house. His parents are out for the night and we thought we'd do something fun for a change."

"Really?" Bellatrix quirked an eyebrow, a slow mocking smile slipping onto her lips as she looked at Lucius Malfoy's grim expression.

Lucius was the type of person who liked to be told what to do and do it without complaint. At school, he was a straight A student because that was what was expected of him. At home, he was a model son because that was what his parents wanted to see. If his parents told him: "no friends allowed" he would respect them. Obviously this whole "fun" idea was not his. He had without a doubt been forced into it by the other boys. Peer pressure was a funny thing…

"We thought you might like to take a break from all the studying." Rodolphus' smooth voice was soft and confident, but it lacked the power and beauty Bellatrix liked so much in Tom's. She did not know why she felt the need to compare them, the eldest Lestrange, a childhood friend; to someone she barely knew yet possessed her in a way Rodolphus could only dream of.

"No thanks." Bellatrix quickly answered, without guilt. "I have things to do."

"Like what?" Rosier demanded, as if the thought of anything more important than an empty house and a full liquor cabinet was preposterous.

"Study, assignments, _school_. Maybe you've heard those words before, Rosier. They're quite common in University."

"Oh, bravo. Very funny." Rosier sarcastic sneer was one Bellatrix was all too familiar with.

Bellatrix smirked, swigging her school bag over her shoulder and brushing invisible dirt off her pants. With a satisfied sigh, she looked up at the four boys and gave them a smug smile.

"Well if that's all, I'll be leaving. I'm very busy and have no time for-"

For the first time that day, her breath froze in her throat and her body felt too cold to move. All she could do was muster enough strength to keep her mouth shut, to keep her eyes impassive. All she could do was stand still, without taking a single step towards or away from _him_.

"Hello, Bellatrix."

Her companions turned, taken by surprise by the voice behind them. They could feel it too, the tone of danger carefully hidden within layers of politeness and confidence. They could feel it, although they probably did not know it, that they did not want to be around this man.

"Hello." Bellatrix breathed, her hands carefully holding the strap of her bag, protecting that little bird that was shivering within her breast.

It might have seemed stupid, but Bellatrix did not know what to call him. In her mind, in her journal, she called him Tom Riddle. But somehow, now that he had made their relationship clear, she did not feel it appropriate to call him by his name. Yet she could not ask him. How does one ask such a thing: "What would you like me to call you? Master? Mr. Riddle? All great and powerful one?".

Tom Riddle was also dressed in a warm jacket, holding his schoolbag casually over his shoulder as if he had just run in on her on his way home from school. But Bellatrix knew this was not true. She could feel that he was standing before her with a purpose.

He looked strangely handsome out in the cool autumn sunlight. His cheeks were only slightly pink, just enough to give him a little color without making him look ridiculous like the four other boys in her presence. He looked casual, relaxed…normal. Bellatrix could not help but compare this Tom Riddle, a simple student with a good brain and a pretty face, to the one she had faced alone in dark isolated areas.

Malfoy, Rosier and the two Lestrange siblings stared at Tom Riddle with poorly contained curiosity. They knew who he was, of course, but they had never seen him speak to anyone before. To see him now speak to Bellatrix as if they actually knew each other was unnerving. There was an odd tension in the air.

"I was wondering if I might come over to your house, later tonight. We have a test tomorrow and I thought we could prepare together." Tom smiled a knowing gleam in his eyes that only Bellatrix understood.

"Yes. Of course you can." She murmured, holding the strap closer to her chest.

"Good…" Tom nodded his head, smiling as he ran his eyes over everyone present. He looked at them each slowly, calculating something they could not see.

They held their breath.

"Well then I guess I'll see you tonight." He nodded, giving her one last look before moving up the stairs, past the four boys and Bellatrix. But just when she thought she could start breathing again, he spoke again:

"Oh and Bellatrix?" He looked down at her, this time, from the top of the stone steps.

"Ye-yes?" This time she was caught off guard and she could not keep the fear out of her voice.

Tom Riddle laughed. It was like a cold hand running its nails down her back.

"Have some nice sharp knifes ready, won't you?"


	6. Chapter 6

First I must apologize for my sudden disappearance. Honestly I feel horrible for just abandoning all my projects, especially this one. I've been going through a very bad time these past months and I've been unable to produce any decent piece of writing. This is the first thing I've been able to get out of my mind in months. One night I just couldn't sleep and I was enjoying how dark everything was. So I wrote this. I know it's not much but it took me a loooonnnnggg time to write it. I'm really trying to write more but I'm having a hard time producing anything that isn't crap. So please be patient.

Now go read! Sorry for the long A.N! I needed to get that out of my system!

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October 15th 2011

_Oh God… what have I gotten myself into? _

_This…this is sick. I've heard of people doing this, of people doing this for pleasure and release. We have a word for those types of people in my world: freaks. People with no money for anti-depressants or (and?) scotch. People who cannot deal with the real world. Why must I lower myself to their level? _

_Oh God, help me. I'm afraid. This is horrible. I can barely stop my hand from trembling. There's blood on the page. It's running down my fingertips. It's so warm yet it feels so wrong. I don't like it. I don't like how it weighs down on my body. I don't like this..._

_I could stop. I could tell him I think he is mad and get a restraining order put on him. I could… but I won't._

_Out there, I can only speak lies. The least I can do is speak the truth to myself. I will not lie in this journal. I refuse to. The truth is: I could stop this madness. Even Tom Riddle wouldn't be crazy enough to harass me if I threaten him with my father's power. But I won't. _

_I'm in pain. I'm scared. I'm alone. But I won't. _

_I can't._

_I don't know why…_

_I just can't._

_And that scares more than the actions I am taking tonight._

_xxxx_

It was cold. It seeped into her body, under her thin layer of skin and into her bones, where it rested, aching. Bellatrix must have pulled on five layers of clothing and still she felt it. She shivered, unable to bear the touch of the frozen lifeless surfaces on her skin. Everything, even the air around her, was chilled. But it didn't feel calm and soothing like the outdoor autumn air had felt that afternoon. This air felt stagnant and dead, it surrounded her, infiltrated every corner of her house, even between the sheets of her bed. She could not get rid of the frost gathering under her flesh.

Standing in her bedroom, Bellatrix remained still, staring at the many objects surrounding her. She had heard of people hoarding objects in order to feel secure. Looking around at the many useless trinkets that sat upon her shelves, she wondered why she still felt alone.

Bellatrix owned three little porcelain dolls that sat on the top of her book shelf, in one neat row. They had sweet little rose petal smiles painted onto white lifeless faces. Their eyes, large and black, looked down at her. They stared. They knew…

They were laughing at her, as if they knew an upcoming fate she did not. It took all Bellatrix had not to throw those little dolls out the window. She did not think she could bear the thought of sleeping in that bed, imagining them lying on the sidewalk bellow, their cracked little faces watching her through the window, still smiling…

Bellatrix had rushed home after her talk with Tom Riddle on the Hogwarts campus. It had taken all her strength to mutter an explanation for the four witnesses before leaving; something about Tom being a cooking amateur who would not tolerate unsharpened knifes. It had been the best Bellatrix had been able to come up with.

And now she stood in her bedroom, impending darkness surrounding her. She could not bear to turn on the lights. Somehow, the thought of seeing everything clearly scared her all the more than the inability to see what lurked within the shadows. Because once her world was bright, she would be forced to accept everything as true. In the dark, she could pretend it was but a bad dream.

"_Have some nice sharp knifes ready, won't you?"_

Those words echoed in her mind, over and over again until each vibration struck her mind like daggers. There was malice in those words. She could feel it even now, alone in her house. It was rushing in and out of her thoughts. It was cutting through all reasoning.

"_Don't think about it, Bellatrix. Don't think about it."_

But she couldn't help but relive those words, project them into the future where they hovered over her bloody corpse, stab wounds red and beautiful under the full moon's white light. Bellatrix was afraid of what Tom Riddle would do with those knifes. Assisted suicide? Murder? Or perhaps he didn't really mean it. Perhaps he just wanted to frighten her. The thought was, surprisingly, not as soothing as she would have thought. As afraid as she was, she could not deny the trembling of her heart, the quickness of her breathing and the gruesome yet stunning pictures in her mind. As afraid as she was, she was feeling _something_ – something terrifying yet thrilling.

The images in her mind, they were so beautiful. She was horrified by how enthralled she was with them. Flashes of red, the glimmer of silver, the paleness of skin speckled with blood, the white of eyes as they rolled back in their head.

She was definitely feeling something now…

Sitting there on the edge of her bed, Bellatrix listened attentively to the familiar silence that resounded within the house. How was it that silence had a sound, sometimes more present than the voices around her? Silence was a soft ringing, quite like a little fly or the humming of neon lights. She listened to it now as if she hoped to only hear it for the rest of her life. It was peaceful and void of emotion. She could have just sat there and think of nothing for as long as she liked. But, she felt it crawling under her skin, she would not stay seated. The silver flash of sharp metal constantly appeared behind her eyelids until she finally stood, intent on finding the sharpest knife her parents owned.

Her bare feet patted across the frozen polished floors, onto the soft Persian carpet in the hallway and down onto the steps. Descending the stairs into total darkness was like descending into an endless abyss where any horror could become a reality. There was something oddly limitless about the shadows that surrounded her legs, the penumbra that fell upon her like a chilling mist. The darkness around her was filled with so much uncertainty; it was so open and limitless. Bellatrix could not help but picture someone following silently behind, just out of reach in the shadows of the vast empty house.

Bellatrix did not know what she intended to do with the knives once she found them. It felt too naïve and frightening to keep them out and ready for Tom; yet it seemed somehow futile and foolish to hide them. None of that mattered to her. For the first time, she was not thinking ahead. All she saw was the pointed edges, the cold black handles, and the smoothness against her fingers. At that moment, all she knew was that she wanted to hold the knives within her own hands.

Her pace slowed as she drew near the kitchen's entrance. Her feet came in contact with the frozen tiled floor and her hand rested on the edge of the cool granite counter. It was at that moment that she saw it; a motionless figure, standing with a large butcher's knife in hand, holding it up to the dim light of the lamp.

"Good evening, Bellatrix."


End file.
